


What's in that Forbidden Prison Tower?

by havetaoque



Series: Candlelight [1]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Aliens, Craters, Fluff, Hurt Wade, Hurt/Comfort, Knitting, M/M, Peter Parker - Freeform, Peter saves Wade, Petey - Freeform, Protective Peter Parker, Rescue, SHIELD, Save Me, Wade Wilson - Freeform, Wade Wilson Needs A Hug, it's like dystopia but in the middle of nowhere, no electricity, not sure why I wrote it this way, not the kinky kind, past Weapon X, prison towers, rapunzel - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-27 05:48:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10803000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havetaoque/pseuds/havetaoque
Summary: On the other side of the mountain, there is a prison tower. Peter can't stop thinking about it.





	What's in that Forbidden Prison Tower?

**Author's Note:**

> This idea just popped into my head this morning while I was cutting a tomato. Enjoy! Let me know what you think about this weird AU world. I haven't really planned it out. It's like semi-modern but there's no electricity?
> 
> EDIT: This is now the first of what will be a series of short fics in this AU.

Peter tugged on his jacket, letting the screen door swing shut behind him with a dull wooden thud. Fallen leaves scattered in his wake as he jogged down the porch stairs, heading for the dirt road that led into town through the forest. The sun was due to rise any minute, but for now, the sky was a murky grey, obscured by mist left behind from last night’s rain. Peter hadn’t been to bed yet. He had stayed up, burning the midnight oil, to repair his web-shooters. He did that a lot now, avoiding sleep. Avoiding the dreams.

He was missing another part, but Tony was sure to have it. That’s where he was headed now. He guessed Tony would still be up, tinkering in his workshop on his suit.

Thick trees closed around him, blocking the sky, and plunging him into darkness when he entered the forest. His footsteps barely made a sound as he jogged along the well-worn path, spider senses alerting him to any particularly tall tree roots or low-hanging branches. His breath came out in little clouds, but he could hardly see it for the darkness. A three-eyed something peered out of the thicket at him, but Peter just waved and received a blink in return. He passed those same eyes every day.

The forest path curved uphill for a while and the ground became stonier. Small showers of pebbles followed Peter’s feet as he jogged up the hill, hardly breaking a sweat. The town was close now and the trees were thinning as he approached.

Tony’s house sat up on a hill, overlooking the town like an overly elaborate watchtower. Peter passed by the market and the dry goods store. The town was still asleep. He walked up the hill and tried the large brass knocker on the door. The oak vibrated. Peter waited for a few minutes, but no one came to the door, so he climbed up the side of the house to Tony’s workshop.

Peter peered into the window. Tony was sprawled out on his back snoring, wrench in one hand, spilled coffee next to his other. Peter chuckled and jiggled the window latch open. The old glass creaked on its hinges, but Tony didn’t wake. It was good he was sleeping. That man never seemed to remember he wasn’t a machine like his suit. Peter landed silently on the floorboards and made is way over to one of the workbenches, stepping carefully over bits and parts scattered around. He rooted around in the drawers until he found the part for his web-shooters that he needed, scribbled a note with a stump of charcoal on the back of an old newspaper for Tony and went back out the window, shutting the latch softly.

It was still absurdly early, but Peter decided to stay in town until SHIELD opened. Peter worked for SHIELD, going on reconnaissance missions to scope out the scorched land on the other side of the mountains. Something had fallen to the earth there ten years ago. The trees around the crater were still blackened and dead, and the easy availability of charcoal had spawned what Peter privately considered a nightmare: several people in town seemed to fancy themselves great charcoal artists and hosted gallery shows of their godawful work, charging money for admittance. Peter had gone to one once.

The strange thing that came to earth had vanished years ago. It just seemed to fold in on itself until he receded from view. No one knew if it was still out there. No one could see it. But after the explosion, some strange things began happening. Peter, for one, gained his Spiderman powers. He had been working on an Oscorp analysis project with Gwen of the effects of the thing on native insect and arachnid populations when one bit him on the back of his neck. He’d freaked out a bit, but that was ten years ago, and there were others like him now.

Peter’s last mission over the mountains was with Natasha and Clint. They’d found a group of hostile creatures with large teeth, scavenging the remains of a campsite and its unfortunate campers and took them out. On the way back, Peter caught a glimpse of a lonely tower on the mountainside. It stood silently, all blackened stone and broken jagged wooden roof. It was at least two hundred feet tall.

“Has anyone ever been up there?” Peter asked, pointing. He’d never seen it before. His missions usually had him returning a different way through the mountains.

Clint shrugged. “It’s an old prison tower. There’s a deep moat around the base with stakes and everything. I think they used to have crocodiles.”

“You’re not serious,” Peter said. “A moat? Isn’t that a little old-fashioned with all these mutant powers now?”

“It’s not like the guy in there can fly,” Natasha said, adjusting the strap on her pack.

“Wait, there’s a person up there?”

“I just said it’s a prison tower, Pete.” Clint smirked at him.

“Doesn’t mean it’s still occupied.”

Clint shrugged. “Why the sudden fascination? It’s been there for years. Haven’t you heard the stories?”

“I’ve never seen it before,” Peter said. “And no. What stories are you talking about?”

“They say that a monster dwells in the tower,” Clint said, wiggling his eyebrows.

Natasha rolled her eyes. “It was built long before this town by some super-secret program. I don’t know how long the guy’s been in there though. Fury saw him once last year and said he was better off in there.” She looked hard at Peter. “I wouldn’t go looking if I were you. It’s a restricted SHIELD site now.”

Peter nodded. “Gotcha. Don’t go near the big scary tower.”

But the image of the tower, black and jagged against the pale sky, never left him.

 

Peter climbed a tree and settled in to wait for SHIELD to open its doors. Fury said he had a mission for him today. His first solo mission. Peter shoved his hands in his pockets, fiddling with a little robotic spider he’d made. The back of the spider was hard red enamel that shimmered when the light hit it a certain way. A network of gears inside allowed the legs to move if you wound it up.

Peter shaded his eyes as the sun came up, unconsciously looking south in the direction of the tower. He glimpsed a dark shape, less irregular than the tips of the tall pines, peeking among the trees.

“That must be it,” he muttered. He wondered if the prisoner could see the town. He hoped so. It must be terribly lonely stuck in that tower.

 _How the hell does he eat?_ Peter wondered. _Or go the bathroom or exercise or, or anything?_

 _Clang clang clang_. The bell.  SHIELD was ready for another day.

Peter leaped from the tree, landing gracefully in a crouch at its roots. He straightened, fixed his jacket and headed to work.

The dark halls were lit with torches. Peter’s footsteps echoed eerily off the stone corridors as he followed the main hallway to Fury’s office. He knocked on the open door to announce his arrival.

“Come in, Peter,” Fury said, facing the window. He held a file in his hands. He turned, long leather coat swishing, and went to his desk to sit.

Peter hurried forward. “Sir, you had a mission for me?”

“I did and I still do. Have a seat.”

Peter sat down in the hard-backed chair by Fury’s desk and took the file he was given, paging through it.

“I need you scout out the southern quadrant of the explosion zone. Agent Hill reported some strange activity there two days ago.”

Peter skimmed over the report. “Colored arrows, sir?”

Fury steepled his fingers. “Yes, Parker. Colored arrows. To shoot you with.”

“I gathered that much,” said Peter, looking at the sketch of the weapon. Fury glared at him. “Sir, I mean,” Peter added. He snapped the folder shut. “So just recon or should I bring one of them back?”

“Just recon. This is a stealth mission. We don’t know what they want, but they seem to be gathering at a rallying point. If it’s going to come to a battle, I want to know everything now.”

“Okay,” Peter said. He got up, folder tucked under his arm. “I’ll go suit up and pack my things.”

“Good,” Fury said, leaning back in his chair. “Oh, and Parker.”

Peter stopped at the door and turned back. “Sir?”

“Don’t go near that tower. It’s for your own safety.”

“The tower, sir?”

“The old prison tower on the south side.”

“Oh that tower,” Peter said casually. “Right. I’ll steer clear of it.”

 

 

 

Peter put in his mission provisions and equipment order with a SHIELD worker and waited by a dying potted plant in one of the atriums. People in black uniforms went by, carrying stacks of paperwork and pushing carts.

“Good morning, Peter.”

“Hi, Steve,” Peter said.

“I heard you’re heading out on your first solo soon. Good luck, son.”

“Thank you.”

Steve continued down the hall toward one of the meeting rooms. Peter leaned back against the cold stone walls and stared at the rug on the floor. It was frayed on one edge and worn down until it was almost as hard as the stone floor itself. Half an hour later, the SHIELD worker returned with Peter’s provisions and equipment: a week’s worth of _delicious_ SHIELD tinned food, a pair of Stark binoculars, a SHIELD-issued field journal, a lump of charcoal (Peter groaned), compass, map, canteen, and a pistol. Peter hadn’t brought his pack with him, so he left SHIELD for his house, balancing everything in his arms, grateful for his sticky hands.

Back at his house, Peter dumped everything on his tiny kitchen table and went to fetch his traveling blankets, spare clothing, and other mission necessities. Fury’s warning about the tower came to him again as he was stashing some beer into his pack. Peter grabbed two more and packed another sandwich. Like hell he wasn’t going to the tower.

Peter set off for the mountains before noon. He was carrying a lot for a stealth mission, but with any luck he would be able to set up a base somewhere near the southern quadrant and set out from there each day for recon.

The sun was setting when Peter arrived at the edge of the explosion zone. He couldn’t see any activity in the immediate region, but a quick scan with the binoculars showed some movement on the south side, just as Hill had mentioned in the report. Peter retraced his steps into the woods and went around the side of the mountain toward the movement. Another hour later, he made camp beneath a rocky overhang with a good vantage point.

Peter took out a beer and a sandwich from his pack. He’d save the tinned food for later. The beer was warm, but Peter popped off the lid and took a swig, sighing and stretching out his legs. He really needed new hiking boots. He would have made better time out to the mountains if his web-shooters were working, but he hadn’t gotten the chance to fix them before setting out. Now, Peter dug through his pack for the newly borrowed part and fiddled with it by the dying light of the sun. An hour later, something _clicked_ and he test-shot a web at a nearby tree.

“Perfect,” he said. He’d be up in the trees tomorrow, scouting. That sure beat walking.

Peter lay down on his bedroll, web-shooters on his wrists, and curled up under three blankets. It was getting chillier now and without a fire, he was glad he’d brought the extra blankets. He drifted off into a light sleep, still alert for any strange noises, but the night was quiet and it passed without incident.

The next morning, Peter rose before the sun and packed up his camp, stashing most of his supplies in a crevice under the rocky overhang. He tossed some leaves and branches to conceal his things and webbed himself up into a nearby tree with a considerably lighter backpack. He swung through the boughs, landing easily on branches and leaping off again until he reached the edge of the forest by the explosion zone. One of the creatures came up over a small rise. It was grey-colored and looked rather skeletal. Peter trained the binoculars on it and flicked another lens down to see closer. He began sketching the creature. It looked young, despite its height. Peter couldn’t tell if it was hostile or not, but Fury and Hill seemed to think there was something going on, some sort of armed gathering.

He stayed up in the trees for the better part of the day, changing positions occasionally to get a different view. He saw a small group of creatures joining up with the larger camp. The camp was concealed behind a rise in the crater, but Peter could see enough of the activity on the periphery. They were definitely gathering for _something_.

When the sun went down, Peter webbed his way back to his camp. He ate a bit of the tinned tuna and went to sleep.

It occurred to him the next morning that a higher vantage point would allow him to see over the rise and into the camp. Peter moved his base camp to a new location, a bit closer to the gathering site, and climbed to the top of a tree and scanned the area.

The tower loomed up suddenly on his left.

Well, if there was ever a good lookout that was it. Since he first saw it, Peter hadn’t been able to shake the feeling of the tower’s pull. There was something about it.

Shrugging off Natasha’s warning and Clint’s stories and Fury’s orders, Peter headed for the tower. He was surprised to see, thirty feet below his perch in a tree, that there was indeed a moat with spikes on the bottom.

“At least there aren’t any crocodiles,” Peter mumbled. He shot two webs to the side of the tower and catapulted himself across the gap, landing easily on the blackened stone. He began to scale the tower.

When he was near the top, a head poked out from between a gap in the crumbling stone at the top. Peter froze, before creeping forward at a slower pace.

“Hey,” he called.

“Hi,” said a voice. “Are you my knight in shining armor, coming to free me?”

“Uh,” Peter said, glancing down at his dirty jeans. “Not quite.”

The head bobbed and Peter guessed the prisoner had shrugged. Peter climbed closer, until he was about five feet from the top. He could see the prisoner more clearly now, though the sun glare made him squint.

“You’re the first _real_ visitor I’ve ever had,” the prisoner said. “How are you climbing up the tower without anything?”

“I stick to stuff. I’m part spider,” Peter replied. “Why are you here?”

The man snorted. “Where else am I supposed to go? I’ve tried jumping off, but I can’t climb out of the moat. It’s like sixty feet deep. This is a fucking inside-out oubliette.”

Peter gulped. “You’ve jumped off? How has that not killed you?”

“Healing factor. And I wanted to get out of here.” The prisoner rolled his eyes. “Duh.”

“But you don’t anymore?”

The prisoner sighed. “I’ve kind of given up, to be honest. Maybe when I convince myself to get free I’ll jump again, but healing takes forever without enough food.”

“I brought an extra sandwich and a beer. Do you want them?”

The prisoner made grabby hands. “Baby boy, you are my hero.”

Peter reached around to his pack.

“You can come up. I won’t hurt you.”

Despite Clint’s description of him, Peter didn’t think the man would actually hurt him. And even if he tried, Peter could fight him off easily.

Peter climbed up and over the wall, landing softly beside the man. He was tall and had more muscles than a half-starved man in isolation should. Peter gawked a bit.

“See something you like, sweetums?”

“Yeah. I mean what! No. Sorry. Here.” He thrust the sandwich and the beer at the man. While the man ate, Peter watched him, trying not to be creepy about it. He could tell the man was nervous with Peter’s eyes on him, the way he hunched his shoulders. The man’s skin looked like he’d been in a fire. Peter wondered how long he’d been up here, if the explosion had done this to him. He was covered in scars from what Peter could see beneath the ragged shirt and pants the man wore.

“That was amazing,” the man said, polishing off the sandwich. “I haven’t had anything that good in ages, not since before they put me here.”

“Who’s ‘they’?” Peter asked. He sat down cross-legged on the stones across from the man, his back to the crenellated wall.

“The people who fucked me up and gave me this beautiful face.”

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Peter said.

“Don’t be. I don’t want your pity. When I get out of here, I’m going to hunt them down and kill every last one of them. That’s why they locked me up here. I was an experiment gone wrong. They couldn’t put me down and I wouldn’t stop coming after them.” He took another swig of the beer, draining it. “I can’t die. I just heal.”

Peter stared at the man, aghast. “Experiment?”

“Yup.”

Peter could tell he didn’t want to talk about it. “So… when’s the last time you ate?”

“About a week ago. I caught a bird. It didn’t taste like chicken.”

Peter nodded, not sure what else to say. “Why…What’s your name?” he asked instead.

“Wade Wilson.”

“I’m Peter. Peter Parker. I work for SHIELD. I had no idea anyone was up here until a few weeks ago and everyone said to stay away. Something about a restricted site. I was just assigned a mission out here two days ago. I’m so sorry. I should have come sooner to see if you needed help.”

“Don’t worry about it, kid. Your SHIELD buddies were right to tell you to stay away. I’m dangerous. And who the hell just climbs up to feed a monster in a tower anyway? You must be kind of stupid.”

“You’re not a monster!”

“You don’t know me.”

 

They sat in silence for a while.

 

“Aren’t you going to ask me to free you?”

“Would you?”

“Well, I don’t know you, but I don’t think you’re a monster. No one deserves to be locked up like this, no matter who they are. If I let you go, you’re going to kill those people though. The ones who… tortured you?”

“Is that a problem?”

“I don’t like killing.”

“Well then I guess you’d better skedaddle that cute spider ass down the tower then and forget about me.”

Peter blushed. “Hey, no, that’s not – I mean, I didn’t say no.”

“Well, Petey,” Wade said, standing up. “Ready when you are.”

“Right, okay,” Peter said. He shrugged off his pack and wore it in front. “Climb on.”

He bent his knees.

“Aren’t you a little small to carry me? You can’t be more than a hundred thirty pounds.”

“I’ve got the proportionate strength of a spider.” Peter smirked. “Trust me, I can handle carrying you.”

“Spider-back ride!” Wade shouted with glee. Peter laughed.

“Get on already!”

“Ooh, bossy. Are you like this in bed too, Petey-pie?”

Peter blushed some more, shaking his head and trying not to laugh. He couldn’t explain it, but this man made him feel so light. Like he hadn’t felt since Gwen and Uncle Ben and Aunt May.

Wade climbed on his back, wrapping his arms around Peter’s neck and his legs firmly around his waist.

“Hi ho, Silver! Away!”

Peter leaped up to stand on the top of the tower wall. Wade clung on tighter, but Peter was balanced perfectly and his sticky feet kept him secure. He had a perfect view of the southern quadrant from this tower and suddenly he remembered his mission.

 “Damn, one second. I’m on a recon mission.” He pulled out his binoculars. “That’s one of the reasons why I climbed here – to get a better view. I forgot I need to get a look at those grey guys gathering over here before we go. SHIELD thinks they may be hostile.”

“Oh, you mean the Grar?”

“You know them?”

“Yeah,” Wade said, chuckling. “They aren’t hostile. They’re here for their annual knitting convention. They always host them in craters.”

“What? That makes no sense!”

“Knitting isn’t just for little old ladies, you know. It’s their competitive sport! When I was traveling for a job, I went to one of them and entered one of the beginner rounds, doing speed scarves. I placed fourth. I still have the medal somewhere if Weapon X hasn’t destroyed my house.”

Peter laughed, body shaking. “You’re joking. You have to be joking!”

“Cross my heart. It’s the honest truth. Take a look with those fancy binoculars.”

Peter peered through the binoculars and got his first good look at the Grar camp. Sure enough, there were cartloads of yarn, unspun wool and spinning wheels, shining colored _needles_ (“Ha, not arrows.”), and groups of Grar, knitting rapidly.

“Well damn.”

“Told you so.”

“I guess I’m done here then. Ready to be free?”

“Hell yeah! To infinity and beyo---AAHHHHH!” Peter launched them into a dive straight off the tower. Wade clung to him tightly, his shout quickly becoming a cheer when Peter shot a web out to the side of the tower and they swung around it in an arc. Peter let that web line go and webbed toward the trees. He swung through the forest with Wade’s running commentary in his ear about his ass and the smell of the woods and the trees and

“Fucking freedom, Petey! This is incredible.”

Peter smiled.

They walked the rest of the way after Peter went back to his base camp for his things. Wade offered to carry something, but Peter waved him off. He’d just gotten out of a prison tower, after all.

“So where will you go?” Peter asked, when they came out of the woods into the foothills.

“I don’t know. I guess I’ll go hunt down those guys.” A sudden wave of exhaustion swept over Wade and he collapsed to the ground.

“Wade!” Peter crouched by his side, hands gentle on Wade’s cheeks. “Are you alright?”

“I’m okay, baby boy. This just… I was in there for _years_.” Peter saw tears gathering in his eyes and put his pack down to sit beside him in the grass.

“I… I haven’t felt grass. Haven’t talked to anyone. Eaten. Drank anything but rainwater. I don’t know how to do normal anymore, Petey. I haven’t been normal since they… I’m not right. You should go. Just leave me. I’m not worth it. Not worth anything.”

“Shut up. I’m going to take you back to my place and you’re going to get better again. Those people did horrible things to you, but you’re stronger than that. Hell, you survived in that tower for years on nothing! You’re not giving up and I’m not giving up on you.” Quietly, he said, “You made me feel more alive than I ever have since… since I lost my family. Please, let me help you.”

Wade looked at him with such sorrow in his eyes that Peter felt his heart aching. He held out his hand and Wade took it, letting Peter pull him to his feet and support him with a shoulder under his arm. They trudged the last few miles back to Peter’s house in the forest.  

 


End file.
